


Sanctuary

by kamidog



Series: Sunflooded Series [2]
Category: Niels & Gang (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamidog/pseuds/kamidog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>300 knows what he wants. It's the question of whether he should risk pursuing it...</p><p>Written by <a href="http://daeranilen.deviantart.com/">Tori Sheldon</a>, Kami's coauthor for <a href="http://secretagentmen.net">Secret Agent Men</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

300 awakes to find himself only half-dressed and tied to yet another chair. Blinking back drowsiness, he studies his surroundings - a dull metal box of a room, illuminated by a tacky 1970s fluorescent light. He bakes in the heat it throws, sweat beading on his flushed skin. Wincing, he twists in his bonds and squints up into the blinding light - just as it sputters and plunges the room into darkness.

Unease settles in his bones as he waits for his eyesight to adjust. In the black 300 is keenly aware of how trapped he is - how alone. Though he knows he must have some kind of gadget stashed somewhere on his person, he can't seem to recall where specifically it's hidden. And though he ought to be able to wriggle a hand free anyway, he can't quite feel his fingers. He just manages to dazedly wonder if he's been drugged when the sprinklers come on.

Relief hits him like a shock of cold water. Smiling, he closes his eyes and tips his head back. The knowledge rains down on him:

He is safe.

As if on cue, the ropes constraining his torso begin to loosen. 300 works his arms free and goes straight for the duct tape binding his ankles to the chair legs. He's just fumbled one piece half-off with his numb fingers when a hand cups his jaw, pulling his face upward.

And there 250 is, water dripping from his hair, his flinty expression belying the concern in his eyes as he checks his partner for signs of injury.

Affection pulls 300's mouth into a crooked smile. 250: always worrying after him, always trying so hard to shield him from danger, always just barely getting him out of trouble. In his head, 300 knows that he doesn't really need a protector - that he can, and has, taken perfectly good care of himself for several years. But there's something to be said for having a person who would catch a bullet for him - someone who cares perhaps a little more than they ought to.

250 has peeled off the last of the duct tape. Exhaling, he places a hand on 300's leg to steady himself as he stands. Warmth radiates from his fingers into the Scot's chilled skin.

When he grabs 250's face and drags him forward for a kiss, 300 is the one who is surprised. 250, on the other hand, self-assuredly wraps his arms around his partner, calloused hands pressing hard on 300's back. Somehow the American manages to calm what began as an urgent and needy kiss into something tender and meaningful. But he breaks away shortly, pressing a quieting finger to his lips to signal, "It's not safe here."

300 understands the gesture perfectly well. Unfortunately, he just doesn't much care for 250's logic at this point. He's half-naked, water-drenched, and finally, wonderfully, miraculously not alone. 300 loops his arms around the American's neck and pulls him in for another kiss, sliding his tongue into 250's mouth.

250 curls a hand behind the Scot's head in response, drawing him as close as possible. 300 hums in victorious agreement. His poor, poor partner's been waiting a long time for this, and 250's usual self control just can't hold out any longer. And 300 is more than willing to take advantage of it.

Sliding one hand down 250's soaking dress shirt, 300 teases the buttons open and peels the dampened fabric from his partner's skin. 250 takes a sharp breath as 300 smoothes his palms across his exposed chest and stomach, cold water dripping from his fingers. The Scot quickly recaptures his lips before he can have second thoughts.

As he works 250's jacket off, it occurs to 300 that he's never been quite so determined to seduce someone. He knows very well that when it comes to sex, even the best strike out occasionally. The difference between a successful ladies' man and a failed one is simply a willingness to try again as soon as another opportunity appears - and there is always another woman just across the bar.

But there is exactly one 250.

300 presses up against the American and whispers something wicked in his best Scottish brogue. And from the way 250's entire body tenses, 300 knows his plan has succeeded. 250 grabs him and attacks his neck, trailing hard kisses down to 300's collarbone, where he leaves a series of possessive bruises. 300 gasps, 250 growls, and suddenly 300 finds himself slammed back against the wall, his wrists pinned to the metal. 250 rips the Scot's undershirt open with a free hand and hotly presses his mouth to the exposed skin. 300 moans with pleasure as his partner licks a trail of water off his chest.

Lord, the things this man can do to him.

As 250 works him over, biting and licking and bruising, 300 can only run his hands up the American's back and sigh in enjoyment. He's grateful, of all things -- not so much for the sex that's about to happen, though he's looking forward to that, but more for the man he's about to have it with. It's not merely that 250 is an attentive lover, or that he's constantly dragging 300 out of the fire, or that he's simply always there when others would long have left. It has more to do with the look in his eyes when he shows up -- the relief there, practically breathing, "Oh, thank God you're here," as if 300 were the one that might walk out of his life at any moment.

Kissing downward, 250 catches an erect nipple between his teeth. And as 300 lets out another gasp, he decides that his very patient partner is overdue for a reward.

Grabbing 250's shoulders, 300 pushes him back and flips him against the metal wall with a clang. The Scot rubs against his partner like a cat, whispering a stream of accented sentences into his ear. With a shiver 250 catches 300's jaw and guides him back for another kiss, wrapping his arms around him, but 300 pulls away, swiftly peeling off the shirt that still clings to the American's shoulders. He pauses to press kisses to the scars on 250's chest as he works down to the man's belt and fly.

300 can feel his partner watching him, wide-eyed, and somehow that gives him confidence as he kneels to yank off 250's belt. He presses his lips to the exposed skin above the waistline of 250's trousers and unsnaps the catch on his fly. 250 gasps as the Scot tugs his slacks and boxers down around his thighs, and in that moment 300 can't imagine anything sounding more erotic. He swirls his tongue against the muscles of 250's groin as repayment and eases downward.

He's never been on this end of a blowjob before, but 300 can remember what he likes done to him. Curling his fingers around 250's erection, he licks the American base to tip before closing his lips around the shaft. The shudder that wracks 250 tells 300 enough about how well he's doing.

Smirking, the Scot bobs his head experimentally. 250 groans in response. His smile widening, 300 rewards the noise with another swirl of his tongue and tries again, more slowly. Disbelief mingles with pleasure in 250's moans, and he clenches his fists against the wall, gasping and panting as 300 draws back all the way to the tip.

300 grins up at 250 as he feathers his fingers along the shaft. His own trousers feel tight, but he hardly pays them any mind. He's managed to reduce his collected, capable handler to a tingling, submissive pile of useless with hardly any effort at all. And even though he knows 250's been pent up, 300 can't help but flatter himself that there must be something special about him, then -- something to make the American look at him like he'd be utterly lost if 300 disappeared.

250 drags 300 back up his body and catches his mouth in a fierce, needy kiss. His hard-on brushes against the Scot's stomach, and 300 gasps just as--

\--he awakes to a literal splash of cold water. Sputtering and red-faced, 300 shakes out his drenched hair like a dog, spraying droplets everywhere, only to realize that his head is in fact the only part of his body that he can move. Still stunned, he pulls at his arms to find them trapped by rough rope. He can't even cross his legs to hide his...

Oh, lord.

And of course, Niels crouches in front of him in that exact moment of terrified realization, wearing that damned smile and dangling a pistol from his fingertips. "My, that was quite the dream you just had, 300," he grins.

300 snaps his gaping mouth shut and inhales sharply, trying and failing to calm himself.

"Thought I'd try to cool you off--" Here Niels toes at the empty bucket, which tips over and rolls across the floor toward a drain. "--but obviously that didn't help much."

300 squeezes his eyes shut as Niels returns to his side, trailing the muzzle of the gun along the Scot's jawline.

"Did you know you mumble in your sleep?" he grins.

Oh, _lord._

300's eyes fly open and wildly fix on the Dane's smug face. That damned smile stretching, Niels leans in close to whisper into his ear.

"So tell me, 300, because I'm genuinely amazed here -- who in the world could possibly make you whisper nothing but 'I love you' over and over? In your real accent, no less?"

And as if to answer the question, every bulb in the room sparks and flickers out.

Niels straightens up, frowning at the ceiling. "For the love of-- It's like you have the Terminator for a bodyguard."

300 has no reply as a panel from the ceiling bangs in and clatters to the floor. 250 drops down from the ventilation and lands a solid kick to Niels's chest. The Dane staggers back, and 250 throws a hard right hook into his face sufficient to knock him out. Shaking out his fingers over the unconscious crime boss, he huffs a breath and turns back to 300.

And there is that look, whispering, "Oh. Thank God. You're here."

"Hey," 250 says.

300 swallows hard, grateful for the darkness hiding certain areas below his torso. "Hi."

Sighing, 250 crosses to the chair and cups 300's jaw with his hand, checking for signs of injury. He seems not to notice as 300 gasps, too preoccupied with his examination of the Scot's face. "Always getting into trouble," he mutters resignedly. "You all right?"

300 blinks at his work partner as 250 releases his jaw. Finally, the Scot flicks his eyes down to the floor, taking a shaky breath. "Yes," he lies. "Yes, everything's fine."

**Author's Note:**

> Tori's final comments:
> 
> 1\. Let's ignore the fact that sprinkler water is super gross, mmkay?
> 
> 2\. In my headcanon, 300 is perfectly aware of how 250 feels about him more or less the entire time and returns the sentiment. He's just in such denial that he cannot and will not acknowledge it.
> 
> 3\. Also in my headcanon, the whole 'turning on the sprinklers' bit is not a one-time thing 250 does to piss off Niels; it's part of his usual M.O. XD
> 
> 4\. The phrase "tingling, submissive pile of useless" must be credited to [Marsh of Sleep](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2276400), who used it in the Soul Eater fanfic ["Amplify"](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5797295/1/Amplify). It was too perfect not to borrow.


End file.
